


In Sickness & Health

by WolfVenom



Series: R6S Drabbles [5]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Accidents, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Blood, Drabble, Fights, Forgiveness, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Medical Procedures, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Request Meme, Scene Gone Wrong, Serious Injuries, Sleep Deprivation, Tumblr Prompt, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:18:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14506668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfVenom/pseuds/WolfVenom
Summary: Another tumblr request~Doc having a hard time finding sleep and being called out of bed after Bandit's pranks go wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I misread your request ;n; I assumed that Bandit pranked someone and got them hurt, not Bandit pranking someone and being revenge punched AAA I'm so sorry forgive me :( I hope this is good enough, though?? Added a little happy bandoc bonus at the end~

Being a doctor had been Gustave’s wish since he was a teenager. Helping injured people and saving lives and bringing loved ones back home safe. But he knew once he completed his first degree that working from the safety of an office, where hypochondriacs and selfish individuals with a broken finger or two would waste his time, was not his niche. He was meant to be out there, helping the people that helped the world, saving the lives of those who saved others’. 

 

So he joined the military. He completed his basic training and gained twenty pounds of muscle, taught himself how to design weapons of medicine and learned to shoot seventy different kinds of guns, earned terribly disfiguring scars and wasn't able to get there in time for many of his friends and comrades. 

 

So he carried those lives in his heart, the ones he wasn't able to save, and used the motivation to heal others. 

 

It peaked when Lion was recruited into Rainbow. A bastard of a man with false loyalties and a disregard of anything but his own goals. Marianna was his friend, a woman he had fought tooth and nail besides and Lion had thrown her to the dogs without a second thought. A  _ single  _ obstacle and the fucker let go of the wheel. 

 

So yes, living in the same base as a fool with the brawling streak of Bandit and the mental stability of Smoke was exhausting. He hated the man, but he was still a teammate, and he was still human. Didn't stop Doc from pressing a little too hard on the bandage after Thatcher broke Lion’s nose with his fist. 

 

Twitch helped, of course. She was an ear and a body to confide in with firm and warm hugs. Rook helped him blow off steam in the gym and Montagne never failed to have a good tale to tell to soothe his frayed nerves. 

 

But the problems never damn well  _ ceased _ . Blitz breaks his toe on a pole, Jackal’s overwhelming plethora of sleep related issues, Lesion’s sabotaged immune system, Thatcher’s arthritis, Thermite’s incessant pyromancy, and even Ash’s regular (strictly friendly) cat fights with Mira. It all just added up and there were no sleep schedules for his rambunctious patients. Sleep was a luxury. 

 

Glaz was bitten by a coyote just a few days prior for some  _ ungodly _ reason no one could explain, and he'd been residing in the sickbay since. Coupled with IQ nearly always finding an excuse to pester him, the entire base was a hectic mess of very large and deadly children. Children with shotguns and karambits. 

 

He finished redressing Glaz’ gauze with a snip of the medical scissors and rolled his shirt back down, silently thankful Glaz didn't utter a word throughout the procedure. He procured some painkillers and instructed the Russian to swallow them down as he prepped an antibiotic solution via syringe. IQ, for once since their stay, was useful in comforting Glaz for the duration of the injection, and Doc couldn't even feel exasperated that Glaz was terrified of needles. 

 

If anything, he understood. They hurt, they were scary, and it made him no less of a human  _ or _ solider. No one made fun of Sledge for his fear of horses, so he'd expect the same treatment of their little sniper. 

 

“That should handle it for now. Expect some seepage, the infection is still rampant, but regular shots should clear it up in no time,” Doc said, scratchy and hoarse from exhaustion, “Mademoiselle Weiss, if you may watch him overnight?” IQ nodded enthusiastically and pulled out her crossword booklet, handing Glaz a pencil and both of them getting to work. 

 

“Thanks, Doc.” Glaz piped, and Doc smiled warmly, as much as he could considering his strain. 

He stowed away his tools, locked up the medicine and sharp objects, then left the two friends to their own devices, hoping Glaz would get some sleep for recovery. Checking his list, with an extremely relieved sigh Doc noticed that he was good to go for the rest of the night, all chores and patients taken care of. 

 

His mental check had him making one last sweep throughout the medical ward, closing up and turning off the lights, poking by the SMB barracks to make sure Dokkaebi was actually in bed and not just on her phone. 

 

Next was bringing Jackal some cocoa, and Doc would usually feel bad lacing it with sedatives had the man not nearly collapsed into a tripwire a day earlier. He opened the window to Jackal’s room for some cool air and shut the door behind him so that the stray cat didn't leave his room. She was his anxiety pet, and waking up next to her would help. 

 

Then it was all the way over to SAS, prying Mute away from his sleeping laptop and disposing his lax body back in bed, untangling Smoke from a nasty choke hold on his bedsheets behalf. 

 

On to Pulse, giving him another month's worth of melatonin to put his schedule back on track, and with that Doc forced himself to stop before he nanny’d the whole base at the back end of midnight. 

 

His room was vacant. A single bed, a desk with a closed book, and a chest stuffed with his necessities. Rook’s snoring from next door lulled the medic into a doze, not even bothering with his shoes or uniform before planting himself face first on the mattress, conking out just as the pillow met his cheek. 

 

Or, he would have  _ loved  _ to conk out. Yet, as soon as he  _ believed _ he had fifteen minutes minimum of a doze, his door was rapped on hurriedly and a figure slammed through, panting heavily. Doc shot up with a start and nearly smashed his head on the top rung. “What’s going on?” He hissed. 

 

Twitch looked on the verge of tears in the doorway and she hardly had the time to force out a heaved words before Doc was already on his feet and halfway out the room.

 

“ _ Buck hit his head and he's not waking up!”  _

 

The hallways filled with the sound of operators rousing from sleep and checking on all the fuss, Twitch and he only taking a few detours before arriving in mess where Frost was currently pounding Bandit’s skull into the countertops. Cooking oil coated the kitchen tiles and Doc didn't need to be a detective to piece together the scene. 

 

“ _ Dominic Brunsmeier, you absolute  _ fucking  _ idiot,”  _ he hissed, rage building up in his chest and mingling terribly with his sleep deprivation. He let Montagne focus on prying Frost from Bandit’s scowling face, trying not to slip on the blood and oil splashed along the linoleum, because Doc wasn't sure that he could do it without switching places with Frost. Instead, he turned his attention to Buck, whose head was supported on Jackal’s lap, and by the sweet God above was him not sleeping another tub of gasoline poured on the already smouldering fire inside Doc. 

 

“Move,  _ make room, now,  _ or you'll be next!” He barked, gently scooting the worried Spaniard aside so he could lift up Buck and get a good look at him on the nearest table. The sounds of Frost screaming, Bandit growling like a dog and Montagne furiously trying to placate the two drowned out in favour of audio memories playing back on loop of his old professors lectures. 

 

_ If the bleeding was steady, it was superficial. A concussion was easy to soothe. Should the wound be pulsing thickly, the brain was clotted or punctured, at best.  _

 

A small trickle of blood slowly oozed its way down Buck’s temple, not a deep red, but a thin rose, so Doc huffed to himself and tenderly assessed the damage, tilting his head this way and that and prodding the bruised flesh. A sure concussion, definite stitches, a minor hairline fracture. 

 

He accepted the offered kitchen medical kit from an antsy Twitch and pulled out some gauze, setting it to the side to dig through other various medicinal patches to find his needle. His eyes barely stayed open, and he feared passing out or messing up the injury with shaky hands. 

 

_ Five stitches, local anaesthesia unneeded as patient is already unconscious.  _

 

He threaded steel through flesh like a quilt. 

 

_ Allow drainage, disinfect with hydrogen peroxide, gauze the wound and wrap the head. Secure with medical adhesive.  _

 

The blood was mopped away by his sleeves. 

 

_ A strict prescription of painkillers, possibly marijuana, maybe morphine. Keep close watch on patient for signs of brain damage. Ensure stress free environment for five to eight weeks of recovery. No heavy thinking.  _

 

Buck would be fine. 

 

Frost spat as many profanities as she could at the German, calming only when Doc beckoned her to come and escort her teammate to the medbay with Glaz and IQ. He explained brief instructions for care and left her to assist Buck back out of the mess. 

 

By then, nearly everyone else had either cleared out, or hid themselves out if the way of the impending argument between medic and maniac. Only Jackal remained, sitting cold and shocked where he was left and Montagne guided him back to his room wordlessly. 

 

Bandit did not raise his eyes. Gaze pointed down, one arm sheepishly grasping the other hanging limp, and blood flowing unchecked down his nose and mouth, Doc nearly felt pity enough to spare him the upcoming lecture. More like fight, if he was honest with himself. The last straw had been pulled and chewed mercilessly. 

 

It began with an inhale, sharp and deep. 

 

“Dominic. You absolute,  _ abhorrent  _ bastard. What did you think was going to happen?” Doc began, eerily collected, “that his  _ hat  _ would cushion his fall? That he’d somehow  _ not  _ slip on fucking  _ vegetable oil?”  _

 

Bandit looked about ready to defend himself, but was shut down with one abruptly raised hand. 

 

“I do not want to hear  _ anything  _ out of your mouth, got it? You nearly killed your fellow operator for a  _ gag _ , almost broke your nose from hence incurred wrath, and you have  _ taken what little sleep I finally managed to find away from me _ .”

 

A disgustingly taut silence stretched between them, over valleys and hills and make-believe oceans. Bandit did not utter a word. Did not move to staunch the blood. Did not try to stop the panic rising in his shoulders. 

 

A defeated sigh, wrought with anger yet ultimately, exhaustion. “Get over here this instant. Let me see your nose.”

 

He obeyed without question, silently shuffling over and never taking his eyes off the floor, looking astonishingly like a Labrador caught tearing through the couch. 

 

His throat was green and purple with aggravated blood vessels, nose blue and dripping red, posterior bleeding. Doc guided Bandit to the nearest chair, settled him down none too roughly and forced his own hand to press against his bridge while he shuffled through the pantry nearby for some paper towels.

 

Still no words; no back-mouthed comeback nor snarky remark. Doc stuffed the paper under Bandit’s chin to wipe the flow before moving on with a fresh sheet to the source, blocking the stream. A gentle cusp on the back of his neck to keep his head down and Doc stood guard besides the German until the bleeding subsided and helped him limp through the corridors back to the GSG9 bunks. 

 

He haphazardly tossed Bandit on his bed, puttering about the room to clean up a sleeping Jager’s messes and ensuring an accident free environment. 

 

“You are a pain in the ass.” Doc grumbled, stuffing dirty clothes in the hamper and balancing it on his hip. Bandit still did not utter a word. He carried the laundry out of their room and closed the door with a  _ click. _

 

“ _ I’m sorry. _ ” Came Bandit’s whisper.

  
  
  
  


\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey buck get in here and come get y'all juice


	2. BONUS

“Wake up, Dom. You’re getting blood on your pillow.”

 

A grunt, a groan of annoyance. Bleary eyes opened to see dark skin and even darker eyes nudging him awake, warm hands pressing his back in and popping a stiff joint to an appreciative sigh from a not fully awake Bandit. Another palm scraping across his scruffed cheek, coming away crusted with dried blood.

 

“Get up, _mon coeur,_ let me have a look at you,” it was Doc, softly luring him into an upright position, “be still.”

 

Though he was hardly conscious, Doc still rambled while he cleaned him up, a night of stress melted away by the morning light, a hot shower, warm coffee and a wink of sleep. Forgiveness pooled in his gut.

 

“Buck is okay. Frost apologizes for fracturing your nose, all is well. But I am still mad, do _not_ do something this stupid again.” He berated. A moment more of fixing the mess, checking his throat, and Doc pulled him up into a sleepy embrace, rubbing soothing circles across his back and accepting the wet eyes on his shoulder.

 

A stain in their life would mar the glass of this moment. But it was growth for them all.

 

 

 _fin_.


End file.
